


Coca-Cacao

by kototyph



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Candy, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-14
Updated: 2007-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chase's appetite for junk food lands him in hot water with House, who wants his money's worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coca-Cacao

When he was forced to work long hours on little sleep, and he often was, Dr. Robert Chase subsisted largely on an unhealthy diet of Coca-Cola and chocolate. In his locker there were rarely less than three giant bags of M&Ms and bite-sized Snickers—all in various states of emptiness—hiding under his dirty laundry, broken pens and spare clipboards. Whenever Cameron saw him pouring over reports at two a.m. or using his lunch break to read the books House threw at his head, she always made the same observation: if she'd sat there with one hand following the print and the other full of Reese's Pieces, she'd be the size and shape of a blimp. Chase just shrugged and tried to keep the chocolate smudges to a bare minimum. He'd felt the sharp edge of his boss's tongue (in his mouth, mind) on that account far too many times.

He'd recently taken a liking to Hershey's cookies and cream bars, and had discovered them in a small, treasure-chest shape he found clever (and easy to distribute in handfuls around his person). They were also easy pickings for when a certain diagnostician, having found that his wombat and 'occasional' (at least twice a day) blondie-boink habitually carried such things, plunged his hands deep into Chase's front pockets from behind and came up with foil-wrapped gold. The yelp and cursing this maneuver usually earned him, considering that it was only cover for some pretty crappy public groping, was icing on the cake.

The Hershey's was becoming a bone of contention between them. Chase would bring in bars, bags, cases, and no matter how closely he watched his locker it would all disappear before lunch, and Chase would have to beg change to get his fix from the hallway vending machines. Inevitably, this change would come from House, and also inevitably, House would demand it back.

"Now, by my count," House mused, twirling lazily in his office chair, "The Bank of Greg has lent you more than twenty bucks this month. You know it ruins your credit when you don't make your payments on time, don't you, Dr. Chase?"

Chase, frowning over paperwork across the desk from him, said without looking up, "I am not giving you a blowjob in broad daylight, much less in the hospital proper. Get back to work."

"Work?"

"That's right."

"It's not work, trying to get into your pants—well, get you into my pants—in a glass-walled office?"

"Ha ha. No."

House settled back with a sulky frown, making of show of unwrapping his 'fun-sized!' piece of candy and popping it into his mouth. "I beg to differ," he said around it. "Would it kill you to come around this beautiful desk, have your way with me and then run your bloodtests like a good wombat?"

House's desk had been recently replaced, and stood out in the glass-and-chrome office like antiquarian Shakespeare on Broadway—dark, heavy, and ornate, with panels that reached solidly to the floor. It was a giant, impenetrable block of wood in the mist of the otherwise airy space.

Chase put his pen down to rub lightly at his temples, the tight feeling of an impending headache having settled there. "Don't you have a meeting with Dr. Cuddy soon, anyway?"

House stretched his legs out and twirled his cane idly. "As it happens, I'll have to teleconference with Ol' Ms. Funbags—seeing as she's in Tulsa. And do you know what that means?"

Chase sighed. "What?"

"No visuals."

Chase caught himself imagining House biting back a moan as his dick slid home in Chase's throat, Cuddy chattering away innocently on the other end about bedside manner or lack thereof, and flushed darkly. He shook his head to clear it.

House grinned. "I saw that! You had a naughty thought."

"Trust me, it's gone now."

"Oh?"

And with a nimble spring he came around the desk himself.

Chase, unprepared for the onslaught, found himself gasping as House devoured his mouth. His fingers entangled themselves of their own accord in House's shirt, tongue avidly battling back, so caught up that heat and friction that he didn't even notice when House, his own hands plunged into Chase's hair, began to inch backwards. When House eased around his desk, Chase followed willingly, and when House slid down into his chair Chase was content to lean over him, running his tongue playfully across the roof of his mouth and making him groan.

Chase wasn't expecting House to trip him, and his "Mfmp?" when his knees hit the floor and his back scraped the edge of the desk made House chuckle darkly. Chase only gazed up at him bemusedly, hands still clutching fistfuls of silkscreened t-shirt.

"Well, since you're already down there… how about that bj?"

You arsehole, Chase thought. "You arsehole," Chase said.

House smirked. "Yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Chase lifted an angry brow, but his head was still fuzzy from the kiss, more so when he noticed the bulge in House's pants begging for attention six inches from his nose. He eyed it, meditatively, consideringly. Measuringly. His gaze rose back to House.

House's eyes widened. "Oh, boy," was all he said, but the faint shake in his voice was probably the sexiest thing Chase had ever heard.

Chase smoothed his hands down House's sides, slowly, watching his face while he moved his mouth within a breath of the button on his jeans. He undid it, with tongue and teeth, and felt the sharp intake of breath under his hands. When he used his teeth on the zipper, fingers hooked in the belt loops to help tug down, and his mouth to moisten the straining fabric he found there, House exhaled gutterably, head tipping forward as his fingers moved to twine in Chase's hair. They fisted there as Chase used the barest edge of teeth to further entice, sucking here and there.

"Will you get on with it?" House growled, deep and rough.

"Sure," Chase assented, and slid his fingers under the waistband at a leisurely pace, reveling in the quiver of the muscles under them.

When the boxers (white, with red hearts) were down far enough, House sprang free with a bounce and Chase snorted at his eagerness. House scowled, then gulped at the decidedly lewd look Chase was giving him, tongue darting out to lick his lips in anticipation.

Chase opened his mouth and blew, lightly, on the shaft, the tip of his tongue flicking the underside so lightly he barely tasted it, but House made a noise that made Chase's fingers clench where they cupped his hips. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his mouth, until he was poised just, over, his—

"There you are. Do you know how long I've been paging you, Greg?"

Chase found himself abruptly shoved into the thick paneling of the inside of the desk, House almost kneeing him in the face in his haste to pull his chair in. Chase couldn't believe his ears. Cuddy?

Echoing his thoughts was House, voice a little hoarse but admirably even as he said, "Hey there, Big Momma. Too hot in Tulsa for those puppies?"

Perhaps not exactly echoing.

"I got back from Tulsa three days ago," she snapped from somewhere in the room, and Chase felt a thrill of horror when he heard the scrape of the chair he'd been using. She'd sat down.

"If you won't come to me, I'll come to you. What were you thinking, browbeating this poor man into these trials? There'd no reason for this. It's unconscionable! He's fifty-two years old, you know. And whose papers are these?"

"Chase's," said House, sounding a little less calm than before.

"Why are they all over the place like this? Where is he?"

"I, ah, sent him to run the, you know."

Chase could hear the sarcasm in Cuddy's voice as she answered, "No. I don't know."

"It's the, yeah, bloodwork. Mr. Fifty-Two needs the bloodwork."

"Your patient's name is Caulfield," Cuddy reminded him icily.

House is really not playing this cool, Chase thought to himself. He usually recovered faster than this. Chase remembered the time he lost a bet over bone marrow and had gotten fucked in the radiology showing room, only to have Cameron show up thirty seconds after House had finished ploughing him into the floor. Hard to believe, but she'd bought House's story—something about faulty air conditioning. It was in all the smooth delivery, while Chase had stood frozen, exhausted and sweaty with the aftermath.

Chase shifted, and above him, House's voice cracked.

And that was when he realized he still had a rather firm grip House's erection.

House's rock hard, turning-purple, please-oh-please-make-me-come erection.

Chase smiled.

While House tried to defend himself from Cuddy, Chase ever-so-gently rubbed a thumb over the leaking head, utterly satisfied with House's sudden "AHHum," and followed it with the flat of his tongue (salt, he thought, and hot and hard and oh, he wanted it), unhurriedly wrapping it around House's length and slowly sucking him off. He eased his hands back under House's thighs as the man's hips arched minutely forward and his legs twitched further apart, and popped the head between his lips.

"Greg? Are you listening to me?"

"Ears wide open, toots," but Chase heard the strain in his voice. His fingers were clenched tightly on the desk, knuckles turning white as Chase slid his mouth further and further over him, tongue rubbing along the sensitive underside too lightly to satisfy.

"Do this now, and I mean now."

"Now?" House asked intelligently, while Chase quietly slurped around his mouthful.

"NOW."

"Sorry. Can't. Need, ah, Chase." Chase had pulled back to nip at him. "Chase's work. The bloodwork."

She sighed angrily. "Then do it as soon as you get it. I expect it to be done before three. Three today, Greg, AS SOON AS Dr. Chase returns with the bloodwork and you have the results. I won't have you prolonging this man's suffering to disprove a theoretical drug."

"Gotcha. No undo suffering." Chase smirked.

She glared suspiciously at him. "None."

House nodded, a little too fast. "Yep."

"Before three?"

"Definitely."

She stared a little longer, and Chase rolled his eyes up to watch the sweat bead on House's forehead.

"Fine, then. And for godsake, take your drugs. You look like you're about to fall over."

She left.

Chase heard the door click shut, and House's hands plunged into his hair to hold him steady while he thrust deep into his mouth, once, twice, and then came with an animalistic groan, shuddering wildly. Chase took it all, almost choking at the sudden violence but swallowing hard around House until he'd drained every drop.

House continued to move his hips languidly as he came down, head falling back on his chair and fingers easing their grip. He stroked his hair, opening his eyes to smile beatifically at him as Chase rose from his place under the desk and kissed him, letting House taste himself on him.

"That's why you bought this desk," Chase accused softly.

"Well, I did have it in mind," House agreed lazily, one hand still tangled in Chase's hair. "But, some days I just don't feel like wearing pants."

He grinned, suddenly, and pulled his other hand from Chase's pocket.

"Want some chocolate?"


End file.
